


Something I Need

by evanstans (sorrylovebut)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylovebut/pseuds/evanstans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes’ life is simple enough. Between relearning what it means to be a civilian and keeping up with his best friend and flatmate Natasha’s antics, his life is too busy to think too much about the dark parts of himself that the Afghan sand tainted.</p>
<p>That is, until a certain Steve Rogers and Clint Barton move into the apartment across the hall from them, and suddenly, Bucky realizes that love might have been the one thing he’s needed all along.</p>
<p>(A modern-day AU where Bucky learns ways to cope with his PTSD, Natasha loves everyone, and Steve and Clint are just major goofballs who fall in love with the idiots that live across the hall.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something I Need

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I'm here. I did it. Holy crap.
> 
> I have so many people to thank. First and foremost, my thanks goes to my wonderful girlfriend, Des. Thank you for staying up with me and helping me work through plot crises and always encouraging me and reading over parts when I needed you too. I love you so much!
> 
> And last but definitely no where near least, all of my thanks to the amazing Sil, who designed the beautiful art you can find [here](http://tmblr.co/ZNfa3m1VHQ0ds). You were amazing to work with my dear, and I absolutely adore the piece of art you made. Thank you for choosing to work with me.
> 
> Without further ado, please read! Please comment on what you thought of it. Feel free to hit me up on Twitter ([here](www.twitter.com/annallisekeatlng)) or Tumblr ([here](ofthe107th.co.vu))

_“Go! Go, go, go! Fucking leave him, Barnes, he’s gone!” Banner shouts and Bucky’s hands shake harder as he tears away from the body, picking up his gun and running to the humvee. He flings himself over the top of the vehicle, hitting the deck as soon as Banner calls the first explosion. The ground shakes, and Bucky clenches the handle of his gun. Banner calls the attack, and Bucky jumps up, tearing away from the side of the humvee and firing into the darkness of the canyon._

_He’s the first one to see it, rolling into their path out of the corner of his eye, but he only gets out the first syllable of the word 'grenade' before it's exploding in a clash of red and white and orange, blinding Bucky as he’s thrown far from the humvee._

_He hits the ground hard, head snapping back against the tightly packed desert sand and colliding with brutal force. He sees the humvee light up in flames, and then he sees Banner trying to crawl away from the inferno. He tries to lift his head but finds the throbbing pain at the back of his skull too much. He whimpers as he slouches back again, trying to move his legs but crying out in pain when a white hot pain shoots up his right kneecap._

_“Banner,” Bucky cries out, voice desperate, choked around his sobs and he’s too fucking quiet even though he’s screaming at the top of his lungs. Bullets whizz over his head, and he can see his squadron scrambling for a stronghold in the desert sand. He realizes with a sickening twist of his stomach that Bruce can’t hear him over the sounds of the war raging around them, and there’s nothing he can do. He can’t move, can’t get up, can’t help, can’t save the only person who’s ever truly known him- “Banner, come on man, you can do it, get away from there, Bruce, you son of a-”_

_And then everything blows again, the fire from the blast colliding with the engine fuel at the front of the truck, and flames explode up into a roaring inferno, red and orange and yellow mixing with the black and white spots in Bucky’s vision. He’s thrown back another huge distance, at least ten feet back from the inflamed humvee, and when he lands all he can do is scream in pain. An agonizing pain shoots up his left arm, wait, what’s fucking remaining of his left arm, and the pain is so intense that his vision actually whites out completely. He’s far enough away from the original blast site then that all that’s raining down around him is ash and coal, and he already knows the fate of everyone that he was fighting with. His vision starts to go fuzzy, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from his tears or exhaustion. He hears people clamoring and shouting in the distance, and suddenly there are voices coming closer._

_They come over to him and start to help him and he wants to yell for them to stop. He wants to tell them not to save him, that he doesn’t deserve to be saved, that he’s a coward and Banner’s so brave; but the words are stuck in his too-dry throat, and he can feel them reading his dog tags, calling for him to stay awake. They try to move his stub of an arm even a little bit and he can’t even scream with the intensity of the pain that comes._

_Bucky almost wants to try to stay awake, just for a minute like they’re telling him to, but then he remembers the way the flames blew up into the sky, and the way Banner couldn’t get away in time, and suddenly, he’s falling under. The memory of Banner’s face before the humvee exploded again is a blow strong enough to weaken every part of him._

_Even though the memory itself has gone a little hazy over the past few months of civilian life, he always remembers praying that he wouldn’t open his eyes ever again._

 

\+ + +

  


It’s been six months since he flew home. It’s been a little less than six months since his best friend’s funeral, and it’s been five months since he was medically discharged from the Army. He’s stopped the physical therapy for his arm because the doctors have said that it’s stable enough for him to use regularly. It still sends pains into his shoulder anytime he moves it too quickly, though.

There are always reminders, he thinks quietly to himself before he falls asleep every night.

 

\+ + +

 

“Bucky!”

“No no no no no, no come back, no please-” Bucky screams, scrambling off of his bed and trying to duck under it. His mind is screaming; he’s trying to find something he can hold on to, something to anchor himself to so that he doesn’t lose his goddamn mind. He’s blinded, falling, falling quicker still and he can’t find anything to hold onto-

“At ease, sergeant!” A voice shouts again, this time stronger, and Bucky cowers, body going rigid with his eyes wide with fear as he goes pliant against the carpeted floor. “Bucky, please, it’s okay, c’mere,” The voice says, and Bucky finally wakes up, gasping for air and putting his head in his shaking hands.

“Fuck, Nat, I’m sorry, I-” He’s still disoriented, blood pulsating in his veins as the adrenaline courses through him, and he can feel his brain and his tired muscles trying to calm themselves down. It’s exhausting, and he feels disgustingly weak.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Natasha soothes, offering him a hand to pull him up. He goes on shaky legs, pressing himself against her. He starts to mouth _I’m sorry_ against her clothed shoulder but she shushes him, shaking her head. Her arms stroke through his hair and he feels like he’s five years old again, having woken up from a nightmare about an alligator trying to crawl through his window. _Those were the days,_ he thinks to himself bitterly, and shudders at the very real reality of his dreams nowadays. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Buck. How many times do I have to say that this isn’t your fault? Do you need anything right now?”

“Nat, no way, it’s like 3 am, and I’m sorry that I woke you up. You don’t have to do that; I’m okay. I’m just so sorry I woke you up, fuck. They just- that was the worst one in a while,” Bucky sighs shakily, pulling out of her comforting arms and slouching down on the bed. “They don’t normally make me _physical_ like that and- wow, I’m really sorry, I honestly don’t know why you put up with this,” Bucky tries to laugh it all off, but it’s way too weak, putting his head back down in his hands as his elbows rest against his thighs. Natasha sits down beside him, legs crisscrossed as she faces him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He knows Natasha would have seen through his lie anyway.

“Buck,” she says quietly. “I’m not putting up with you. You and I both know good and well that I don’t put up with people’s shit. If I had only been putting up with you, you wouldn’t be here right now: you know that. But I care about you and your sanity, so you’re going to stay here for as long as you need. Alright?” Nat says, voice firm and Bucky kind of wants to cry.

“You’re never gonna know how much this all means to me,” he forces the words out, past gritted teeth, and Nat gives him a small smile.

"Go back to bed, bud," she says and Bucky nods, suddenly exhausted. She gets up from his bed and starts to close the door, leaving it shut just a crack. Bucky is suddenly mad, impossibly so, because people have to treat him like a child because he breaks at the smallest of things. They give him sympathetic looks, their eyes filled with _pity,_ and it makes him feel sick. People try to sympathize with his experiences, and all it ever fucking does is belittle the walking man of _pain_ he’s become ever since his last tour. One look can belittle everything he watched, felt, saw, _experienced_ for 13 months and he can’t fucking handle it.

All of this, all these nightmares, all these images because he can't make himself forget the way Banner screamed for help right before it he was blown to bits across the Afghan sky.

He tries to push the thoughts away from his head, tries to dull the resonating screams as he lies back down again. He pulls the cover up to his armpits, shifting up against the pillows so he's practically sitting up. He needs to be able to see everything in the room, to know he has a semblance of control, because otherwise he'll get shaky and panicky and start imagining the sand getting stuck in his throat and the bullets whizzing by his ear at the speed of light.

Another army habit he can't seem to kick. Add that to the growing list.

He lucks out this time, and his dreams are filled with nothing but a dark, eerie silence.

 

\+ + +

 

"Morning Buck," Natasha says with a smile when he stumbles into the kitchen. The clock reads 9 am and he sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes.

"Hey, Tash," Bucky mumbles, sitting at their kitchen island. She gives him a comforting smile, pushing a cup of warm and slightly sweetened coffee into his cold hands. He smiles, and she accepts it as a thank you. “I really appreciate this,” Bucky says, being careful not to let the words _I’m still really fucking sorry for being a dead weight in your life_ slip from his lips.

“I know you do,” Natasha says, grinning around her mug. “Is that good by the way? I bought the cheapest brew they had, even though I still can’t see how you stomach that shit with no sugar. It’s even more disgusting by itself.”

“Do _not_ belittle the only reason I am keeping my eyes open right now you cold hearted ass,” Bucky sighs as he takes another sip. “It’s really good though. And how can you talk? You and your herbal nonsense,” Bucky sticks his tongue out and Natasha scowls.

“You’re a menace, Bucky Barnes.”

“Love you too, Romanoff.”

They sit in silence for a little while after that, until Bucky hears a commotion outside of their door. A man curses out loud, and he can hear another telling him that they'll fix it. His eyes must show his confusion, because Nat is the next one to speak.

"Oh, forgot to tell you," Natasha says, taking another sip of her tea. _Disgusting,_ he thinks again, but doesn't comment. "We have new neighbors. They’re moving in on our floor; they left us a note saying hey this morning."

_New neighbors, new people, new-_ Shit.

Bucky winces because that's the first train of thought that pops into his head, even though he knows they won't have AK 47's stockpiled in their spare room or military rifles stuffed under their mattresses. He hates it for the same reason he hates crowded bars and cramped streets; there’s too much uncertainty.

When there’s uncertainty, people start getting hurt. Bucky always needs to be certain about something like this.

"Buck?" Natasha says, concern tainting her voice.

"Can we go meet them maybe?" Bucky says meekly, trying to force a smile.

Nat smiles. "Of course, Bucky. I'm glad you're finally asking me for what you need," she says and Bucky is still trying to keep a smile on his face. “You can do that without sounding like a pretentious two year old, I promise. You’re not the only one who wants you to get better,” she says, and Bucky’s heart warms a bit around the edges.

“It’s only because you actually make me sound like I’m two years old sometimes,” Bucky sighs, taking the final sip of his coffee and putting it in the sink. “I’m a little broken, but not a toddler,” he says quietly, going into his room to grab a jacket before meeting her by the door. He’s grateful that she chooses to ignore that statement.

Their new neighbors turn out to be moving in directly across the hallway, and every hair on Bucky’s body stands on edge. He finds himself clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to find a way to calm down. Natasha puts her hand on his shoulder and he flinches automatically, sighing and shoving his trembling fists in his pocket.

“Hey, sorry, are we making too much noise? Sorry for waking you up,” the man says and Natasha smiles, laughing it off.

“No, you didn’t wake us up, trust me. We were already up,” she smiles and Bucky can imagine that the man returns it.

“I’m Clint Barton, by the way,” he says, presumably extending a hand to Natasha. Bucky sees another man comes up behind him and walk past the three of them with a sigh.

“He likes it when people call him Hawkeye for whatever reason, though," the man sniggers and there’s a noise like Clint’s just smacked him on the upper arm.

"And this is Steve. Steve Rogers. Feel free to ignore him," Clint says and Bucky finally looks up from his shoes, trying to stifle the gasp that falls from his lips.

The guy, Steve that is, is stupidly gorgeous. His eyes shine when he laughs at Clint's comment, mouth twisting into a silly grin that has Bucky's heart racing far faster than what's considered normal. Not to mention the fact that his shirt and shorts leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. He shoves a huge ass hand through his perfectly styled blonde hair and okay, Bucky thinks, who the fuck actually is this guy, looking perfect at 9 in the goddamn morning.

"And you are?" Steve gestures, shifting his focus and holding out a hand for Bucky's to shake. Bucky grins and withdraws his right hand from his pocket to shake Steve's. He’s surprised to find that it’s stopped shaking. It’s odd, he thinks, because he rarely ever calms down this fast. Not unless he’s with someone he trusts.

"I'm James, but everybody calls me Bucky," he says and Steve smiles warmly at him, squeezing their hands together. Bucky's heart flutters a little bit, and the grin on his face grows a little bit wider.

"Well it's an absolute pleasure to meet you Bucky-?"

"Barnes," he says, and he starts to say of the 107th Infantry before he stops himself. He's not reporting for fucking duty. Army habit he’s incapable of kicking #292948.

“Bucky Barnes, I like that,” Steve says, finally letting go of Bucky’s hand. He immediately misses the feeling. And then he mentally smacks himself for acting like a teenager with a crush. He looks over to where Natasha and Clint are deep in discussion about something, and he catches her eyes over Hawkeye’s shoulder. He smirks, doing a slight fist pump and she blushes, waving him off. Bucky chuckles to himself and turns back to Steve, who surprisingly is staring right back at him. He startles a little bit, surprised, and Steve steps forward, pressing a hand to the center of his chest. Bucky swallows hard when Steve’s fingers trace the metal chain and the tags attached to the end of it. He just feels, hand pressed firmly to his chest, and he isn’t curious. Steve's not judgmental either. _He’s_ _understanding,_ Bucky realizes, and his eyes widen a bit. Steve’s eyes show no pity, and his face is still calm.

For once, Bucky doesn’t have to say anything. For once, someone just fucking _understands_.

“Well then,” Steve says, clapping his hands together and turning back towards Clint and Nat. “Once we finally get the basics moved in, would you guys like to come over for dinner? Clint won’t try to burn the apartment down, I promise.”

“That was one time you asshole!” Clint protests and as Steve laughs, Bucky feels a genuine smile appear on his face.

“Here; give me your number and I’ll text you,” Steve says and Bucky nods, unlocking his phone and pulling up his contacts as he hands it over to Steve. He punches in the numbers, albeit a bit slowly. He reaches into his pocket to grab his own phone, and pulls out a Blackberry.

“Don’t you dare judge me.”

“Oh, I’m judging just a little. It’s okay, I didn’t touch technology right after I got back,” Bucky says, typing as quickly as he can on the ancient phone. He hands it back and look over to where Clint and Natasha are doing the same thing.

“So, it’s settled then?” Steve says, putting Clint in a headlock and ruffling his hair. Nat smiles and Bucky grins. “Friday evening around 6ish, yeah?” Steve says, looking right at Bucky when he says it. Bucky tries to suppress the butterflies.

When Bucky nods his agreement, he kind of hopes that Steve will stick around long enough for Bucky to figure out why he makes Bucky’s heart feel like it’s about to burst every time he smiles.

 

\+ + +

 

The rest of the week seems to drag on for ages, and all Bucky really wants to do is see Steve for longer than 5 minutes again.

They text sometimes, Steve asking if they have a baking ingredient Clint forgot at the store. The man _bakes_ , for Christ’s sake. Basically, Bucky is having a really hard time not falling head over heels in love with him.

Natasha comes home from work at 5 everyday, and after she does there’s always some sort of frozen home dinner and tons of reruns of the Big Bang Theory. _Tons_.

Bucky finds himself living inside his perfect little bubble, and somehow, it keeps expanding. For some reason, Bucky wants to let Steve in.

That Friday evening is the best one Bucky’s had in a while.

He feels _happy._ The kind of pure happiness that bubbles up inside your chest and it feels like a giant balloon of pure feeling that you don’t ever want to pop. Every nerve is alight with pure feeling, and it’s been so long since something, since _someone_ was able to make him feel this good.

Natasha has her iTunes plugged into Clint’s radio in the kitchen before the stove is even on, and Steve and Bucky sit side by side on the couch while they watch the Spurs and Heat play. He can hear Natasha’s laugh across the hall and it makes him smile. She deserves every bit of happiness in the world.

Steve leaves for a second and Bucky feels lost for that short amount of time, but smiles and feels like an idiot when Steve comes back and pushes a cold Budweiser into his hand. LeBron scores a three pointer and Bucky fist pumps with a muttered breath of _fuck yeah_. Steve scowls at him.

“Oh no,” Steve shakes his head and Bucky laughs.

“Oh dear God, please don’t tell me you’re a Heat fan,” Steve says, and Bucky can tell he’s only half kidding. He gives a halfhearted shrug and takes a giant swig of his beer, slouching down into the couch.

“Heat has better natural talent and their players just have more experience,” Bucky says, faking a frown.

“But at least my team plays fair! They play the basic game and don’t compete with all that flashy NBA shit,” Steve insists and Bucky shakes his head.

“You poor soul, that’s what makes basketball so fun to watch,” Bucky sighs exaggeratedly. “I hope you see the light my friend,” Bucky says, slapping his shoulder and Steve laughs, putting his feet up on the coffee table. If he catches Bucky staring at the length of his legs and the shape of his thighs, he doesn’t say anything, and Bucky blushes besides the fact.

“We’re friends? Wow, that was fast,” Steve says and Bucky is nervous until he sees the way Steve’s lips are twisted into a smirk around his bottle, and he gives Steve a smile. They sit in more silence, listening to the sounds of the game from the TV and the sounds of Natasha and Clint’s laughs from the kitchen. The basketball game ends and the Heat have won. Bucky turns to face Steve as he switches the TV off with a smirk on his face. Steve heaves a heavy sigh.

“Fine, fine, I concede,” Steve says, hands raised defensively and Bucky leans back, taking yet another gulp of his beer with a smug smirk on his face.  “So Bucky,” Steve says with a grin, readjusting himself so he’s tilted towards Bucky on the couch. He places his empty glass on top of the coffee table and smiles. “What branch?”

The question takes Bucky aback. Normally people ask him where his arm went, or why the hell he’s still wearing his dog tags even when he doesn’t need to. But then again, most people aren’t Steve. It’s yet another reason that Bucky really wants Steve to stay close. “Army. I had just been promoted to E7 when I was, uh. Medically discharged,” he says.

“So, you would have been a sergeant then right? Sergeant James Barnes,” he says and Bucky gulps down another sip, nodding. It’s been a long time since anyone has referred to him like that. The words sound foreign, even to his own ears.

“That’s me,” he says weakly, raising his glass in a halfhearted salute. Steve’s lips twitch around a frown.

“And this?” He asks quietly, placing a warm palm on the cool metal where flesh and bone used to be and Bucky does visibly jerk away this time. _Too close._

“Roadside bomb set us off, a grenade sealed our fate,” Bucky grits out and Steve winces. Bucky must have surprised both of them, because normally he deflects the question with a rigid smile and an offhand comment about how it doesn’t matter.

“ _Fuck_ , Bucky I’m-”

“Don’t do that, please,” Bucky asks quickly, but it comes out more desperate than angry. “You’re just-” Bucky rushes to explain himself when hurt blooms on Steve’s face for a moment. “You’re the first person who’s just kind of _understood_ in so fucking long, and if you say you’re sorry, that’ll just- ruin it,” Bucky elaborately waves his hand in a wild gesture to sum up his point, and Steve laughs at it.

“No worries bud, I’m just glad you’re here. And for the record,” Steve says, reaching forward to grab both of their bottles. “It’s nice to know that someone gets _me,_ too.”

Bucky startles a little at that. “Army as well?”

Steve laughs and pulls his dog tags out from under shirt. “Captain Steve Rogers, 82nd Airborne Division. One tour in Iraq and two in Afghanistan.”

“Where were you stationed when you weren’t serving overseas?”

“Camp Lehigh,” Steve says after taking another sip of his beer.

“Oh, not too far from here then,” Bucky says, and Steve smiles.

“I couldn’t go too far. Brooklyn’s home, man,” Steve says, and Bucky grins, switching the TV off.

He hears a shout of “Hey assholes! Dinner’s ready! No, _Clint_ , no, put that down-” and Steve laughs, standing up and gesturing for Bucky to follow his lead.

Bucky tries not to get too giddy as he follows Steve and makes his way into the kitchen. Bucky proceeds to make fun of the way Natasha looks at Clint and Steve meets Bucky’s eyes when he puts Clint in a headlock and ruffles his hair. Dinner passes easily (and messily), and the four of the eventually make their way to the couch with multiple bottles of red wine and a marathon’s worth of _The Americans_ playing on the television.

And when his eye catches the light reflecting off of the metal of his arm when he ducks out into the moonlit darkness of the balcony for a quick smoke, he doesn’t feel an overwhelming pang of loss and sadness like he always has before.

There are no nightmares that night.

\+ + +

 

Everything is as perfect as they can get when you’re Bucky Barnes. In the few weeks following the first night the four of them spent together, Clint finally got off his ass and asked Natasha out officially.

He’s never seen her blush so much around someone, and that’s one of the ways he knows Clint is different. It’s actually quite reassuring. He’s so protective over her, and not just because of everything she’s done for him, but because of the person she is. She’s freaking incredible, Bucky thinks, and she deserves someone who makes her smile and laugh as much as Clint Barton does.

There’s one night that changes things a bit. Steve and Bucky had been in Bucky and Natasha’s kitchen, and Bucky was laughing while watching Steve try to navigate their kitchen.

“Stop laughing at me, you jerk, this kitchen is complicated.”

“It’s hilarious watching you trying and failing to find a spoon in a kitchen that has a layout identical to your own, punk,” Bucky smirked as Steve opens yet another cabinet.

“Give up yet?” 

“Fine,” Steve had huffed, utterly exasperated and hopping up onto the counter. “Enlighten me, where is it. 

Bucky parades proudly to the one drawer on the kitchen island and pulls on the handle, revealing their complete set of silverware. Steve looks positively murderous.

“I cannot believe this,” Steve says, shaking his head as he plucked a spoon from the drawer, sticking it in his bowl of ice cream and taking a huge bite. “You’re gonna pay for that."

“Oh, really?” Bucky said, smirking as he takes a spoon for himself, turning his back to Steve so he could dish out his own ice cream. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Bucky said, turning around, bowl in hand, only to have his eyes meet Steve’s chest.

“Do you really want to know?” Steve murmurs, and Bucky swallows, hands tightening around his spoon.

“How about I get to pick the movie this time?” Bucky had said, eyes darting away from Steve’s gaze. Steve had taken a huge step back, chuckling nervously and nodding his head as they made their way to the couch.

 

\+ + +

 

So, like he said; things are as close to perfect as is possible in Bucky’s case.

And then Natasha wakes him up on the morning of July 4th, and there’s a knot in Bucky’s chest that not even Clint’s jokes can loosen.

Bucky wakes up in a horrible mood, and it doesn’t get much better. Natasha does her best to keep up with him and cheer him up, but nothing is going to work. And she knows it.

“Okay, dammit Buck, I'm trying,” Natasha suddenly exclaims, utterly exasperated, slamming the remote down onto the coffee table. This is the fifth time (Bucky’s been counting) that Natasha has tried to instill a conversation and Bucky has shot her down. “I know today is hard for you and I know there are idiots out there and yes, tonight is going to fucking suck, but all three of us are going to try and make it as easy as possible. But you need to meet us halfway, alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says distantly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I'm sorry.”

“I know honey,” Natasha says, bringing him closer so he can lean his head against her shoulder. “I can't imagine how shitty today is going to be for you, but you just gotta bite the bullet and hit it head on.”

“You're right,” Bucky mumbles against the fabric of her shirt. 

“Clint and I are going to watch the fireworks along the bay tonight. Would you want to come?” Nat asks, and Bucky shakes his head no. “Even if we got Steve to go with you?”

Bucky groans and swats at her face. Natasha snorts.

“That's playing dirty and you know it,” Bucky murmurs. Natasha coos and pushes his hair back out of his face.

“He would say yes, you know. All you gotta do is ask,” She says when their chuckles die down. Bucky sighs, focusing his gaze onto something flying around outside of the window.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “Yeah, maybe he would.”

 

\+ + +

 

The day gets substantially better after that.

There’s laughter and cake batter and every God awful song that contains the word America in it filling Bucky’s kitchen. She and Clint attempt to make patriotic cupcakes, but that goes south fairly quickly, and the rest of the people on their floor aren’t very pleased when the fire department shows up outside the apartment complex because Clint Barton doesn’t know how to use an oven properly.

The laughter fades though, and the kitchen starts to not smell of burnt cake batter. Dusk falls on the city, and Bucky pulls a beer out of the fridge. He puts it back when he sees Natasha look at him warily, and while the thought of trying to withstand tonight without alcohol makes him wants to punch something, he knows she’s right. He’s drinking because he feels like it’s the only thing he can do, and it’s been so long since he slipped up big time.

“We’re going to go meet up with some people down at the bay. You sure you don’t want to go with us?” Natasha says, tying up her shoes. Clint wraps an arm around her waist when she stands back up.

“I can drag Steve’s ass there with you if it’ll make you feel better,” Clint says, and Bucky does actually laugh at that.

“No, it’s alright. I think I’ll just stay here. You guys have fun though,” he says, waving them off. She smiles, soft around the edges, and he knows he’s made the right decision. “Don’t forget to use protection, fuckers!” He yells as the door shuts, and he swears he can hear Clint’s laugh all the way out to the street.

He lasts an hour on his own. It’s a torturous hour of jumping every time the ice machine turns on, or every time a horn honks from outside his open window. He curls his metal hand into a fist, trying to steady his breathing in the too quiet house. He tries to think of anything to distract him from everything today truly means. He has to steady himself against the fridge when he goes to get himself something to eat, his head suddenly spinning with the sounds of bullets that too closely resemble the sounds of celebration happening outside.

He doesn’t even put on shoes or lock the door to their apartment (Natasha will skin him for that in the morning) and he just walks directly across the hallway and knocks once at Steve and Clint’s door.

“Hi,” Bucky says awkwardly when Steve opens the door slowly. _Military habit,_ Bucky thinks. He's standing in the doorway of Steve's apartment, hands still a little shaky. Steve looks no better off, trying to force an awkward smile, but he's sweating, and he's pale. Extremely pale.

“I, uhh. Can I come in?” he blurts, and Steve looks relieved.

“Please,” he says, stepping back from the door and Bucky smiles a bit. His phone vibrates with a text from Natasha, and he chokes on an inhale as he reads it.

 

_you okay? need me to come back?_

_No. W/ Steve. We're fine._

_ohhhh, you're with steven ;P well i'll leave you to it then, text me if you need anything. use protection, clint keeps condoms in the top bathroom drawer._

_I hate you, Natalia. And by the way, gross._

_have a good night barnes <3_

  


“Beer?” Steve offers and Bucky looks up, shaking his head as he pockets his phone. Every cell in his body is practically begging for him to say yes, but he knows that it would only make him feel worse. Right now, he really just needs to stop being reminded of the way Banner screamed that last night in Afghanistan combat.

“I'm good for right now, thanks man,” he says and Steve collapses down beside him on the couch and Bucky knows he’s made the right decision. Alcohol is a very bad idea on a night like this.

“It gets a little easier,” Steve says then, throwing his feet up onto his coffee table. Bucky pulls his feet up, sitting with his legs crossed, facing towards Steve as he starts talking. “This is your first 4th of July being a civilian, right? It gets a little better. You realize that people don’t mean harm by the things they say to you and, yeah. I guess it just gets a little bit easier to push past all of the pain.” He says, and Bucky fights the urge to stroke his bionic hand through Steve's blond hair.

This feels so domestic, so close, and as Bucky looks down at him, he realizes just how much he needs him. It's much closer to someone than Bucky has ever really allowed himself to be, ever since he got back from Afghanistan. Perhaps even before that. Steve has made himself a central part of Bucky’s life in a little less than three months, and while that should scare Bucky out of his mind, it’s become too familiar to truly frighten him.

Bucky doesn’t know when it happened, but God be damned if he doesn’t need Steve more than he needs anything else. Steve isn’t a therapist, not even close. He has his own fair share of demons. But somehow he’s a more soothing presence than the antidepressants in his veins and the memories of a gun in his hand.

He does it anyway.

He threads his fingers through Steve's hair, stroking comfortingly. Steve lets out a shuddery breath, but doesn't pull away. If anything, he presses closer, pushing his head up into the comforting press of Bucky's metal palm.

“And how many has it been for you?” Bucky murmurs, continuing to play with Steve's hair. Steve lets out a small and breathy laugh, shifting closer to him.

“Too many. Too many with no one else who understands,” Steve amends quietly, looking up at Bucky. His hand stills and Steve's thumb brushes across his cheekbone before resting against his chin. Bucky draws in a deep breath, metal hand leaving his hair to cradle the back of his neck.

“Steve, I-”

But he doesn't get too finish, because suddenly Steve's breath is hot on his cheek, his hand wrapping around Bucky's hip, holding tightly as he nudges their lips together. Bucky breathes out sharply through his nose, and Steve doesn't pull back, pulls him closer even. Bucky can't help himself, and he pushes their lips together harder, a firm press that has Bucky feeling intoxicated. He tightens his grip on Steve's hair when Steve sinks his teeth into Bucky's bottom lip, tugging lightly. Bucky's eyes fly open and he pulls back to catch his breath, head swimming with thoughts of how good this feels and how much he wants this; wants Steve.

And Bucky can't help it, he laughs. He laughs, and it's real and genuine, and he can't remember the last time he felt this happy, save for maybe the first time he met Steve, that first night at dinner with Tasha and Clint. The whole thing is suddenly so ridiculous, and Steve looks slightly confused, but mostly just happy, and Bucky can't even catch his breath enough to explain. 

“Bucky?” Steve asks after 30 seconds of Bucky loosing his mind. Bucky's laughs quiet down when he looks at Steve's face.

“Oh god, I'm not laughing at you, Steve, shit. This whole thing is just ridiculous and cliché, and I can't decide whether I hate it or love it.”

“You idiot,” Steve breathes with relief, swatting at his arm. Bucky hiccups another laugh, pressing a tiny kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth as consolation. “I thought I had royally screwed this up, you ass.”

“Sorry to disappoint babe,” Bucky snickers, throwing his legs across Steve's lap so he can press his face against his neck. Steve hums his approval and lets him, wrapping a huge arm around his waist. Bucky lets himself fall into it, allows himself to feel close to someone again. Steve presses his forehead against Bucky's temple and Bucky's fingers go back to stroking his hair. Bucky's heart rate has finally slowed down, allowing him to think clearly for the first time all day, and there's a part of him that wants to stay, just like this.

“Think the fireworks will probably start soon; it's getting to be that time,” Steve says after a few minutes of them just holding on to each other silently, and Bucky tenses. “It'll be alright, I've got you,” Steve says and Bucky just swallows. “Do you want to go watch?”

“If you hold me, maybe,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve grins widely. He stands up quickly and drags Bucky up with him.

They transition outside to the balcony, and Bucky leans against the edge. He's a little dizzy, brain all warm fuzzy from being pressed against Steve. Steve's fingers press against his own, giving him a reassuring smile. Bucky swears his heart skips a beat.

Fireworks start going off along the bay, but when Steve's arms come to wrap around Bucky's waist, he can't bring himself to care much at all. Sometimes they both shudder at ones that go off particularly close to their apartment, but they'll just press in a little bit closer, and somehow the noises around them aren't what matters. Steve's head leans against the back of Bucky's own, pressing kisses to his hair anytime he tenses up at a sudden flash of bright color across the dark Brooklyn sky. And when Bucky's metal hand comes to rest over Steve's, cool metal pressed against warm flesh, right over his stomach, and Steve doesn't so much as flinch.

Bucky's still working out how in the world he's going to be able to let Steve walk away without him taking huge parts of his heart alongside him. As he’s thinking about this though, a small part of his heart tells him that maybe he won’t have to walk away at all.

 

\+ + + 

 

The city’s fireworks show comes to an end, save for a few crazy teenagers playing with sparklers on the rooftops. Bucky turns around in Steve’s arms, hugging him tightly. Steve’s breath is coming unevenly, but somehow Bucky knows that it isn’t from the fireworks. They walk back inside.

“You’re exhausted,” Steve comments softly, rubbing his hand along the hard lines of Bucky’s back. Bucky just nods, starting to step away from his comforting touch. He feels slightly panicky, because the only reason he stayed sane tonight was because Steve’s hands had been a comforting press against his skin, and he’s not too keen on sleeping alone. He knows it’s for the best though, and he continues to walk towards the door.  

“You could stay,” Steve says quietly as Bucky’s hand wraps around the doorknob. Bucky stops, because his heart is screaming yes and his head is begging his feet to keep moving.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Bucky says, and Steve moves closer, placing his hand over Bucky’s own.

“What do you want me to do, beg?” Steve breathes, and Bucky chokes as he laughs, letting the door go.

“Alright, just for that mental image, you win, Rogers,” Bucky says and Steve tugs him in for another kiss, this one much less chaste than the first one. They pull apart after a few more minutes.

Bucky pulls out his phone to text Natasha.

_Staying with Steve. Tell Clint that if there’s sex being had tonight, the sex is happening over there._

“Bed now, c’mon.”

Bucky feels like he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, his chest pushed firm against Bucky’s back. His fingers interlock with Bucky’s metal ones, and Bucky leans into his touch. He holds on tighter, like Steve isn’t even real, and he has this irrational fear that he’s going to wake up and Steve will be a part of this perfect dream.

For now though, the feeling of Steve holding him, of the two of them being connected by something more than just the dog tags around their necks; it’s more than enough for Bucky to feel safe.

 

\+ + +

 

When Bucky wakes up, Steve is gone, and he almost has a panic attack right there in Steve’s bed. Luckily the smell of sizzling bacon reaches his nostrils before his breakdown can begin, and suddenly he can’t move fast enough.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Bucky says, blinking once. Steve’s hunched over the stove without his shirt on, and Bucky isn’t entirely sure he isn’t still asleep and happily dreaming.

Steve chuckles. “Thought you might appreciate a good breakfast. Late night and all,” Steve says, and Bucky stalks over to the kitchen island. He leans in to press his lips quickly against Steve’s cheek, grinning as he looks at the spread of food Steve’s laid out for them.

“Thank you,” Bucky says simply, because he can’t find the words to say _I think I’m falling in love with you_ without throwing either of them off too much.

“By the way, if you want, only if you want, there’s sweatpants in the top dresser drawer and shirts and things in the second if you want to change into something more comfortable. And a spare toothbrush under the sink if you need,” Steve says quietly. Bucky’s heart rabbits against his ribcage, and he suddenly feels as giddy as a middle school kid who’s just realized their first crush.

“I’ll be back in a bit then,” Bucky smiles, and Steve practically sags forward with relief, putting more bacon on the griddle.

He tugs his jeans off and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants out of Steve’s drawer. They’re big enough on him that he has to pull the drawstrings to their max, _and_ tie them into a bow so the strings will stay taut. He grabs one of the toothbrushes out from under the sink like Steve says, and as he looks in the mirror; he realizes he’s glowing. He _looks_ as happy as he feels, and it’s been so long since something like this has happened to him. He reaches out with his metal arm and flexes his fingers, watching as the metal plates slide forward to adjust to the movement. He looks up at his face, meeting his reflection with soft eyes before smiling to himself and leaving the bathroom.

He walks back out to the kitchen where Steve’s already got plates and silverware set out for the two of them. Bucky runs his metal hand through his hair, and notes how it’s getting a little shaggy. Now that he has someone to try and impress, he should really start giving more of a shit about how he looks.

“Steve Rogers, you’re a man after my heart,” Bucky says as he sits down, flirting because he doesn’t have much left to lose at this point. Bucky Barnes has always been an all or nothing man, and judging by the blush that graces Steve’s facial features, he hasn’t crossed any lines not worth crossing in Steve’s book.

“Never a problem, Sergeant Barnes,” Steve says and Bucky’s stomach twists in a way it shouldn’t. His fork hesitates halfway to his mouth, and Steve frowns.

“Hey, you alright?” Steve says calmly, and Bucky nods.

“I’m fine, I just-“ Bucky takes a deep breath in because it’s suddenly so much for him to process. “All of this, and then last night- it’s just, a lot. And it’s been so long since I let someone get that close, and even now I just- I don’t regret it,” Bucky says quickly, in case Steve misinterprets his fumbling.

“I really appreciate having you in my life, and I’m so scared I’m going to screw it up. You’re such a good person Steve and I’m-I’m fucking not,” Bucky says, deciding it would be best if he just laid it all out there. “Steve, I was the best sniper in my unit. I killed hundreds of people from hundreds of feet away and I never flinched,” Bucky chokes, and he wants to scream.

“Bucky, where do you think these tags-” he touches the metal against his chest- “Where do you think these came from? I _know_ , okay? I may not be able to fully relate because your training was much more specialized than mine ever was, but _Buck_ , we were soldiers. Hell we still are soldiers; we’re just fighting a different battle now.”

Bucky takes in a shuddering breath and looks up at the ceiling, trying to process. “Steve,” he says, and his voice is too watery, too soft. _Too weak_.

“Oh Bucky,” Steve says quietly, hopping off of his stool and coming over to where Bucky’s hunched over his countertop. “Can I?” Steve says, asking for silent permission to touch. Bucky nods and Steve’s arms wrap around his shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“You’re different now. So am I,” Steve whispers, pressing his lips against his hair. Bucky presses his cheek against Steve’s bare chest for a second before he pulls back to look Steve in the eyes. His bionic fingers curl in the metal chains of Steve’s dog tags.

“Please,” Bucky says quietly, and tugs on the chains. Steve makes a noise but lets Bucky pull him down, their lips meeting for the first time since last night, and Bucky keens, flesh and bone hand wrapping around Steve’s hip. Steve sinks his teeth into Bucky’s bottom lip and pushes his half-eaten plate of food out of the way.

“Bucky,” Steve says, voice low and rougher than Bucky’s ever heard it. Bucky pulls back long enough for Steve’s hands to wrap around his hips and _lift,_ so that he’s sitting on the kitchen island. Steve slips in between Bucky’s thighs, hands still wrapped firmly around his hips, anchoring him to the moment. His hands don’t roam when they kiss again though, even though Steve’s tongue is an insistent press against Bucky’s own.

“Whoa, slow down there soldier,” Bucky pants, laughing. Steve pushes their foreheads together, breathing heavily, but when their eyes meet, Bucky sees that he’s grinning just as widely as he is. “As amazing as this would be,” Bucky says, pressing a chaste kiss to Steve’s red lips, “I think we should hold off on it. Imagine if Clint walked in on us having sex on his kitchen counter. And I don’t want to think about what Nat would do. She’d probably kill me, to be honest.”

Steve groans and pushes his face against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky laughs brightly, curling his arms around Steve’s neck and locking his thighs around Steve’s waist.

“You have to carry me to the couch now. I’m making you watch movies with me because I’m still too tired to actually put in effort to look decent and go out,” Bucky says, and Steve rolls his eyes, but obliges.

“I’m starting to think you like it when I manhandle you and carry you places,” Steve says and Bucky makes a noise as Steve sets him down.

“So what if I do,” Bucky grumbles as Steve opens up the cabinet under the TV to reveal his and Clint’s combined collection of movies.

“Fight Club,” Bucky says simply, and Steve laughs in disbelief.

“How did you know that that’s one of my all time favorites movies?”

“Maybe it was just meant to be,” Bucky smirks as Steve blushes again, pulling the DVD from its’ case and slipping it into the player. Steve stands up, stretching as he reaches for the remote. Bucky can’t avert his eyes.

“Are you going to put a shirt on or is this what we’re gonna be doing for the rest of the day?”

“Aw, but I thought you liked it.”

“I do like it. I like it way too much, that’s the problem,” Bucky deadpans and Steve laughs, flopping down on the couch and putting his head in Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s hands move to play with his hair as the opening scene starts playing, and Bucky can’t think of a time since well before Afghanistan where he’s ever been this happy.

 

\+ + +

 

Steve, as it turns out, is also extremely technically challenged. The man still has a Blackberry, for God’s sake. It’s driving Bucky up a wall.

They’re having sandwiches for lunch, and they’re in much of the same position they were earlier. Bucky’s sitting on top of the counter, with Steve in between his legs. Steve’s head is currently thrown back in laughter after Bucky apparently made a goofy face.

If there’s one thing he’s learned more about Steve Rogers today, it’s that the man has a beautiful laugh, and since he laughs at everything (even when it isn’t funny), Bucky has plenty of opportunities to hear it. Bucky’s in the middle of questioning him about his technology when Clint and Natasha come home.

“No Netflix?” Steve shakes his head.

“Hulu?” Another shake.

“Not even HBO GO?” Still nothing.

“Clint must hate you.”

“He’s not so bad when you get used to him,” Clint’s voice says from behind them. Bucky jumps slightly, but Steve’s hand squeezes his thigh, and his heart slows a little bit. “Sorry about that pal,” Clint says as he toes his shoes off. Natasha laughs when she sees the situation the two of them have gotten themselves into.

“What the hell did you two do to my kitchen? It’s a complete mess.”

“The one I’m always cleaning?” Steve says and Bucky snorts, taking the final bite of his sandwich. Natasha laughs, wrapping her arms around Clint’s waist and hooking her chin over his shoulder.

“You look like a kicked puppy Barton,” Nat says and Clint pouts even more.

“But my _kitchen._ ”

“Your kitchen will get cleaned in due time I promise,” Natasha says. “Right now though, you and I are going to go take a nap because we didn’t get much sleep last night,” Natasha says, pushing Clint towards his room and Bucky fakes a gag.

“Disgusting, that better not have been happening in my room, Romanoff.”

“All over your sheets Barnes,” Natasha calls back and Bucky yelps, pushing Steve away and grumbling bloody murder. Steve is in stitches by this point, and Bucky will hand that one to him; it would be funny if Bucky wasn’t so scandalized by the very suggestion.

“We should probably clean this up,” Bucky says, and Steve waves him off. “I’ve got this. You go walk around for a bit or something,” Steve says, and Bucky does.

Steve and Clint’s apartment is laid out the same as Bucky and Natasha’s is, but it’s a lot more put together than theirs is. Historically, Steve has been the better interior designer between the two of them. Clint prefers just to sling whatever, wherever, and Bucky has seen first hand how far it can drive Steve up a wall.

He looks at all of the different titles Steve has on his bookshelf. He knows for a fact that these are all Steve’s novels because he’s never seen Clint Barton willingly touch a book, no matter how small. There’s the typical Charles Dickens and F. Scott Fitzgerald, but there’s also a lot of novels about coming home, and topics that have to do with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. There are paperback books about recovery, and rebounding from depression. It makes Bucky’s heart lurch to think of Steve reading these for himself.

At the end of all of that though, there’s a picture of a man in a glass case. It’s his officially military portrait, in standard uniform and without a smile showing.

It’s what’s next to the picture though, that really makes Bucky choked up.

There’s an American flag, neatly folded and placed in a wooden box, set adjacent to the glass frame. There’s only one conclusion Bucky can draw from that, and there are suddenly tears in his eyes.

“Hey Bucky, what are you- oh,” Steve trails off when he sees Bucky standing by the bookshelf.

“I lost someone too,” Bucky says quietly, to break the silence. Steve nods.

“What was their name?”

“Bruce Banner,” Bucky says, and his voice trembles a bit when he says it. Throughout all of his therapy sessions, all of his conversations with Natasha, not once did Bruce’s name come up. He’s never talked about that night before, and he isn’t sure he wants to start now. “I had a really hard time finding a reason to stay over there after the explosion. I’m not going to talk about it more than that, though. I can’t.”

“It makes it a little bit easier to handle, I promise. You can come to me whenever you’re ready,” Steve says quietly, but he shrugs instead, like he’s choosing his battles. “His name was Sam Wilson. Best pilot I’ve ever had the pleasure of flying with, Bucky, let me tell you. He wasn’t just my pilot. He was my best friend, before anything else. We came home together,” Steve says, looking down at his hands.

And then it all clicks.

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky gulps, because oh _fuck._ They came home together… which means that Sam didn’t die in combat, he-

“War just hit him too hard,” Steve says, but Bucky can tell he’s choking back tears. “And his parents, they hated him for going over there in the first place. They wouldn’t even accept his fucking _flag,_ ” Steve says, voice dripping with venom. “So I stood there and took the one thing they could give me to honor what a good man he was.”

“You blame yourself for what happened to him,” Bucky says, and it’s not a question. Steve’s eyes are shining when he looks at Bucky.

“Running group therapy sessions down at the VA helps a little with the guilt.”

“You’re working down at the VA?” Bucky says, and Steve shrugs.

“One of my old friends has some good connections there. It’s not anything crazy high up or anything, but I lead a few group therapy sessions during the weak, and yeah. It’s good to know that the people that show up are venting in a safe space, and not trying to deal with it on their own.”

“Wow,” Bucky murmurs, not even knowing what to say. He wraps his arms around his torso, essentially giving himself a hug. Natasha’s offered multiple times to help him get a job, even something simple, like working retail, but every time he’s refused. It’s not that he doesn’t feel capable; it’s that there’s no way he’d be able to control his anxiety in a space constantly filled with new people.

“You know what?” Steve says then, putting the picture of him and Sam back on the windowsill. “I’m taking you out to dinner later.”

“What?” Bucky says, heart pounding.

“I, Steve Rogers, am taking you, Bucky Barnes, out to dinner tonight. Nothing too fancy, I promise, but I’m expecting to see you in a button down.”

“So that’s a thing for you then? Hot guys in button down shirts in fairly nice restaurants?”

“Mhm, though at the moment,” Steve tugs Bucky in close wrapping his arms around Bucky waist. “I can only think of one guy I’d _really_ like to see all dressed up.”

Bucky smiles when Steve kisses him, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the way Steve kisses like it means something; like it shakes him right down to the core of his soul anytime Bucky’s lips meet his.

“Now why don’t you go across the hall, and take a nap. Nat’s right, all four of us could probably use some decent shuteye. But make sure you’re up by 7, because I’ll be there to pick you up,” Steve says and Bucky grins.

“You want these back?” Bucky says, gesturing to the sweatpants. Steve shakes his head.

“Nah, you keep them. Don’t do anything stupid until I come and pick you up!” Steve calls as Bucky opens the front door. He looks back and smiles widely.

“How can I? I’m leaving all the stupid with you,” Bucky grins, and he takes a deep breath as he shuts the door, leaning against the white wood paneling.

He’s never felt this alive.

 

\+ + +

 

Bucky should have known that he wouldn’t get as much sleep as he wanted too. There was simply something about Steve Rogers that kept him in a constant adrenaline rush. His heart was rabbiting against his chest; his pulse is so quick Bucky possessed the momentary fear that he might actually die. But even if he did, he’d die knowing that he was in love with someone as unbelievably splendid as Steve.

He finally forced himself to shave, rummaging through the depths of his closet to find a decent fitting button down. Steve might have been 100% joking, but Bucky refuses to take any chances with that.

The knock right at 7 o’clock makes Bucky jump, but when he realizes that Steve really did show up right at 7, he starts chuckling to himself. He opens the door, and Steve’s dressed in a striped dress shirt and khakis. Bucky feels like he’s been punched in the gut, almost completely swept off his feet.

“7 o’clock, on the dot. Amazing,” Bucky manages, and Steve’s eyes light up.

“I mean what I say, Bucky Barnes,” Steve smirks, and it takes Bucky’s breath away. “I prefer not to leave people waiting, especially not someone with a face so beautiful that I can’t stand to see any expression on it that isn’t happy.”

“Well, aren’t you a big sweetheart,” Bucky says, and Steve reaches for his metal hand, linking their fingers together.

“Just for you,” Steve says, closing the door and letting Bucky lock it up. Bucky presses himself into the curve of Steve’s body as they walk. Bucky had been on plenty of dates before this; but never once had he felt this strongly for someone he hadn’t even known for 6 months. He lets Steve lead them, fingers squeezing Steve’s at random points while they’re walking. The Brooklyn sky is a lovely shade of pink, and it almost matches the blush that taints Steve’s cheeks when they finally sit down for dinner at an Italian restaurant at the corner of 1st and 3rd. Steve orders them a bottle of red wine, _bless him_ , and he leans back in his chair when the waiters take their menus.

“So, Bucky,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow. “What do you do?”

Bucky laughs outright at that, because Steve looks like such a beautiful dork with his lips curled up into a smirk and his eyebrows raised in question. “I actually don’t do anything at the moment. I haven’t had a job since I got back. Don’t really possess the, uh, social skills.”

“I didn’t do anything work related for a while after I got back. I understand that,” Steve says, pouring a glass of wine for each of them. “I don’t know, man. After Sam, it took me a while to get back up to speed.”

“I don’t know how you did it,” Bucky says honestly, sipping a glass of his wine.

“Even if I did help him get better, at the heart of who he was, he would have still been unhappy. His pain was something I couldn’t ease. That’s how I came to terms with it. I just hope to god he’s happier now.”

Bucky thinks of Banner, of beers shared in the barracks and obnoxiously loud karaoke. His heart sits heavy in his chest.

“Alright, on to the next typical first date subject,” Steve laughs as the waiter walks away again.  “Should I be scared to meet your parents?” Bucky smirks.

“Steve, I think you should always be scared to meet the parents. 99% sure that comes with the ‘boyfriend’ job description. But no actually, you don’t. My mom died when I was younger, and my dad and I haven’t been on good terms for a while,” Bucky says quietly, taking a big gulp of wine.

“Well, good news for you too then. My parents both died when I was a teenager, so. No awkward meeting the parents then.”

“It’s just you and me,” Bucky says with a soft smile that matches the glow of the candlelight. Steve reaches out a hand and links it with Bucky’s flesh and bone one.

“Us,” Steve murmurs, stroking his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand. The waiter placing two plates of food down in front of them breaks the moment, but Bucky’s eyes don’t leave Steve’s.

“And the other two nerds,” Bucky adds, breaking the moment. Steve blinks once and then bursts into laughter, grabbing the left side of his chest as he throws his head back.

“Do you have any idea of what you maybe want to do with the rest of your life, Bucky?” Steve asks once he’s calmed down. They start to dig in, and Bucky chews thoughtfully, considering.

“Honestly? Falling in love seems like a good place to start,” Bucky says after he’s swallowed. Steve doesn’t say anything immediately after, but the huge grin that takes over his lips speaks a thousand words.

The rest of the night passes with laughter and an entire two bottles of wine. Bucky insists on sharing a dessert, and by the time they’ve finished, the manager of the restaurant comes over to them, asking that since it’s nearing one in the morning, they kindly finish their meals and get on their way. Bucky laughs out of disbelief as Steve pays for both of them (despite Bucky’s protests) because he really isn’t capable of keeping up with the time when he’s around Steve.

“Did we just get kicked out of a nice restaurant at 1 in the morning?” Bucky giggles, and Steve kisses his cheek.

“I think we did. Where to next?” Steve says, cheeks flushed beautifully in the dimly lit street.

“You’re going to take me home, Steve Rogers.”

“It would be my upmost pleasure, James Barnes.”

  


\+ + +

 

Bucky laughs against Steve's mouth as soon as he pushes them through the door. They kiss heatedly, and Steve's hands roam across Bucky's chest like he can't get enough. Steve tastes like the red wine and chocolate sundae they had at dinner, and it’s almost as intoxicating as the taste of Steve himself. Bucky’s head is fuzzy and he’s so relaxed. Bucky’s going to give Steve everything; as much as he’s willing to take. 

Steve takes the initiative of moving things further though, and pushes Bucky up against the counter, lifting him by the hips and stepping between his spread thighs as soon as he's seated on the granite. They must be a sight, Steve's hands gripping his thighs tightly, his tongue completely ravishing Bucky's mouth. 

“Crap,” Bucky whispers, throwing his head back when Steve's hands roam over his hips to knead at his ass. His nails dig into Steve's shoulders, and he's so gone even though they're barely getting started. Steve's breath is hot against Bucky's cheek when he whispers his next words.

“I want you, God, I want you so much, I've wanted you since the first time I met you, I swear-”

“Stop talking, fuck,” Bucky whimpers, mouth falling open as he reaches for Steve with his metal arm. Steve catches his wrist though, holds it in his hand. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs and Bucky shudders. Bucky's breath catches in his throat, and he swallows hard when Steve presses a kiss to the metal palm. Bucky's flesh hand digs into clothed skin of Steve's shoulder as his eyes slip shut.

“Bedroom, yeah?” Steve murmurs, and Bucky nods quickly locking his legs around Steve's waist as Steve lifts him effortlessly. 

“Really? This again?” Steve says and Bucky laughs as he fights Steve's bedroom door open, fumbling blindly behind him as Steve steals another kiss.

“You can't talk, you like having me on your kitchen counter, for Christ's sake-” 

“Don't,” Steve mutters warningly as the door finally opens. Steve lays Bucky down on the bed, crawling on top of him. Bucky lets Steve fit between his thighs, opening them invitingly. Steve groans and fumbles for Bucky's hands, pressing them into the pillow above his head.

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky gasps when Steve presses a kiss to his jaw, sinking his teeth into the skin of his neck just below. “I swear to God I've never told you I like any of this,” Bucky barely bites back a moan when Steve grinds into him, both of them still fully clothed.

“Maybe I just know you too well, James Barnes,” Steve murmurs, nipping playfully at his jaw again before releasing Bucky's hands so he can lean back to start taking his shirt off. Bucky gets there first though, nimble fingers undoing the buttons with ease. Steve looks down at him, lips parted as he pants lightly. The shirt finally falls open, exposing Steve's toned chest. Bucky grins, sliding further up the bed as Steve shrugs it off.

“You're incredible,” Steve all but growls as he leans down to kiss Bucky again. Bucky moans at the heat behind in, the way Steve's hand presses up once against the bulge in his jeans. Bucky hisses, metal arm whirling as it curls and tightens around Steve's shoulder. Steve groans, rubbing hard again.

“That should not be as hot as it is.”

“You're an idiot,” is all Bucky says in response, completely out of breath and unable to form a response any wittier than that. “Get your jeans off, come on-”

Bucky fumbles with the button on his pants and boxers, shoving them both around his knees and them completely off. Steve follows suit, and Bucky holds onto his shoulders as he fumbles in his nightstand.

“Yes?” Steve holds up lube and condoms, and Bucky's cock twitches where it's curved up against his stomach.

“Please,” Bucky murmurs and Steve nods quickly.

“Which way-”

“Fuck me,” Bucky deadpans and Steve can't help but giving a short life. Bucky grins because he can't remember sex being this fun, this light-hearted and heated. It's so good, and Bucky wants to feel like this all the time.

“As you wish,” Steve says, popping the cap and slicking his fingers. He presses one in, all the way to the knuckle and Bucky releases a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. It's been so long since he's let someone in like this, so long since he's even wanted for someone to have him like this. It feels incredible.

“Jesus Christ that's good,” Bucky pants, hitching his knees up as Steve presses in with two fingers. 

“You're so tight,” Steve murmurs and Bucky flushes all the way down his chest because Steve's normally so careful with his words, and it's indicative of how far they're both gone. Steve gives him another, and this time the pads of his fingers brush against his prostate at the perfect angle. Bucky gasps, riding down against Steve's hand.

“Oh, please,” Bucky gasps wetly, and Steve's all too willing to oblige. Bucky fights the condom wrapper open with slightly trembling hands and smirks when he slides it on using his metal hand. Steve's eyes widen and his hips thrust forward of their own accord. Bucky leans back, gripping the top of the headboard as Steve lubes himself up.

Steve presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “Go slow,” Bucky whispers, mouth falling open when Steve nods once and presses in.

“Fuck,” Steve swears, easing himself in gently. Bucky gasps, knocking his head back against the wood, hands tightening so hard he feels it creak under the pressure.

“Oh Christ,” Bucky breathes, muscles fluttering around Steve's cock. “Please, come on-”

“Shh,” Steve says, smoothing Bucky's sweaty hair off of his forehead. “I've got you.”

And then he starts moving, really moving, and Bucky couldn't hold back his moans if he tried. Steve groans at his sounds, moving his hips in a way that's so teasing Bucky's head feels like it might explode. 

“I won't break, you can go harder,” Bucky pleads, pushing down into Steve's thrusts. Steve fucking whimpers at that and grabs his hands, pinning them above his head when he fucks into Bucky again.

The new angle is perfect, and Bucky cries out with the head of Steve's cock brushes against the perfect spot inside of him. The sensation of Steve's cock deep inside and the way Steve's muscles flex while he's holding him down and fucking him without abandon has Bucky closer to the edge than he'd like to admit. It's a matter of minutes, of Steve fucking Bucky harder and deeper and better than anyone ever has, before Bucky feels the familiar heat curling at the bottom of his spine.

“Oh fuck, Steve-” Bucky moans “M'gonna come.”

“Come baby, come on, want to see you-” Steve murmurs, breath hot against his ear and Bucky tightens up as he comes untouched with a choked sob. Steve watches him closely and fucks him through it, and Bucky feels his orgasm rip through him with a shudder, pushing Bucky's wrists even further into the pillow.

Steve rolls off of him, chest heaving as he pulls out gently and ties and deposits the condom God knows where off the edge of his bed.

“You're amazing,” Bucky says when he has his breath back. He curls into Steve's chest, fingers tangling with the chains around his neck. Steve's arm curls under Bucky's neck, scratching lightly at his scalp and playing with his hair.

“Mm, so are you. You really like these don't you?” Steve says, gesturing to where Bucky's playing with his tags.

“They just mean a lot, I guess. It used to be who I was, you know? I'm not used to being with someone who was able to understand,” Bucky murmurs. Steve sits up suddenly.

Steve reaches forward and takes his tags off. Bucky bites his lip as Steve reaches for his as well. Bucky pulls them off, holding them in his hand. His face contorts into an expression of confusion as Steve looks at him intently.

Steve is holding something that represents all of Bucky’s past, and a huge part of his present. Steve knows it too, because he’s holding the silver chains like he held Bucky during their movie marathon. Carefully, but not delicately; Bucky isn’t a flower that needs to be treated with great care. He’s a cut that needs its’ bandages replaced every once and a while. He doesn’t want to be coddled; he just wants to be held.

Steve understands that difference. In this moment, Bucky knows that for sure.

Steve takes them from him, and hands Bucky his own. Bucky's eyes widen as he holds Steve’s tags in the palm of his hand. There's _Steven Rogers_ and _Brooklyn, NY_ pressed into the metal.

And then Steve takes Bucky's tag and puts them around his own neck, and Bucky makes a noise that sounds like he's dying. Steve takes his own tags from out of Bucky's palm and lets the tags fall while holding on to the chain, gesturing for Bucky to tilt his head forward. He does, and the metal settles in against his skin, resting in the middle of his chest, and for the first time in a long time, they don't feel like a dead weight against his soul.

Steve just traded their dog tags, and now he physically has a part of Steve wrapped around him, and it feels like he can't breathe.

Bucky is truly stunned into silence. His mouth falls open like he's trying to figure out what to say, but he can't find any words to sum up the amount of love that's welling up in the back of his throat.

“I know that this is early and I know that there's still so much we have left to learn about each other. But you've straight stolen my heart, Sergeant James Barnes. And if you'll have me, I'd like to stay with you. Till the end of the line we’re running on,” Steve says quietly, hands wrapping around his chains that are currently wrapped around Bucky's neck.

Bucky just kisses him, and it tastes like hope and everything Bucky has ever needed.

\+ + +

 

_Where we love is home; home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts._

_~Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Homesick in Heaven_


End file.
